Slug Life

Confessions of a Laundry Slut

My washing machine died.
Not in a young and reckless fashion, in blaze of lint ignited glory.
No, more in an exhausted middle-aged woman way. It just began to wheeze a little, its parts becoming less flexible and lubricated, until eventually they fell off. It tried hard but it could no longer approach a mixed load with the same enthusiasm as in its youth. I cried when it gave its last swoosh. Now I have a nice, new washing machine, it’s shiny, its buttons are pert. It even has a light inside the drum, but somehow, I cannot muster the same enthusiasm for it. We do not have a drier, Mr ND does not approve of driers in the Southern hemisphere. I think laundry should be easy. People I talk to seem to manage their washing quite well, they say things like ‘I have a pile of laundry to do when I get home’ suggesting their laundry might be contained in one area. As a self-confessed laundry slut, this fascinates me.

I don’t have a ‘pile’ of laundry, it’s more a series of controlled explosions.
Apart from the central washing mountain which most of us seem to have, I have also inherited these strange laundry burial mounds, often with a chair or other piece of furniture that has been swallowed at the epi centre. Then there are those hidden, ripening sports bags, and the paper trail of divorced socks. Sometimes,in my kids bedrooms, I find an entire set of clothes lying abandoned, spread out on the floor like a crime scene photo. Where did this come from? Did one of my random children just spontaneously combust? Is this all that’s left? Should I draw a chalk outline around it and call the police?

What you need is laundry baskets, they said. It will be easier to get organized they said. So, now I have baskets…oh yes.

Firstly, there is the clean clothes PUT away basket. These clothes NEVER get put away. They just cruise around the house, inside their plastic laundry Winnebago, like grey nomads doing the big lap. Secondly, we have the basket the kids have destroyed by being Daleks, Ninja Turtles and Stair Sledging, so as a result one load is always homeless and lives IN the washing machine, it has been washed 17 times now because I keep forgetting to take it out. Then there is the dangerous red load with that Kmart swimming costume that turns everything neon pink which must be separated from the general population, and finally the half a basket of delicate, merino, cashmere, antique lace, jewel studded, knitted from frickin spider silk items that I must have purchased whilst having a delusional episode, because quite frankly my dear, when.. oh when, have I ever hand washed a blouse and dried it flat between layers of blotting paper. Just never.

Wash your mouth out with soap poem!

I could get on with my washing machine if I didn’t feel it wasn’t ever so slightly taking the piss. Three hours for a cotton wash cycle. seriously. That’s the best you can do? I have lost two good childbearing years and developed a glaucoma, right there waiting for towels. It would be quicker to just haul them down to the river and fecking beat them on some rocks myself. I know somewhere in the 72-page manual there is a feature, where I can shorten anything I have selected by 15 minutes (oh, if only that were a feature I could apply to a real-life situation!) but to be honest I just don’t have the will power. Then ladies and gentlemen you are just one step away from wearing your husband’s pants. It’s cute when your 18 to wear your fellas things but meeting up by the fridge last night, both of us in vests and men’s black Bonds. I couldn’t help noticing we just looked like Burt Lancaster and Tony Curtis in the old black and white movie about trapeze artists. Time to do a load me thinks.

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2 thoughts on “Confessions of a Laundry Slut

  1. Haha I love this almost too much, I have 4 laundry baskets, 4 laundry hampers and my dining area looks like a Chinese laundry house. I honestly don’t know where it all comes from? I thought I’d won the lottery when I had all boys, no girls changing 10 times a day, 5 skirts in all different colours and extra knickers each everywhere.
    No… I have boys, I have skid marked jocks, I have shirts barely worn on the floor of the bathroom / bedroom /TV room.
    I am a laundry slut and for only 5mibs per week do I feel clean. When I look at those empty baskets it’s almost better than winning the lottery, almost.
    Thank you for understanding the mundane and bringing it to its colourful life.

    1. Ain’t it the truth though Kristy. In my opinion boy laundry is more prolific and more challenging in the ‘wtf stain removal’ department than a house full of girls. I have given up. Glad you like the blog xx

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